The Game of Surviving
by TantalumCobolt
Summary: Surviving. It seams so easy, but this person knows it isn't. It's more than just eating, sleeping, drinking, breathing; living. It involves torture, escaping, fighting; winning. Death. The opposite of surviving. The one thing that many people dread or fear, unless it is inevitable Then, it is accepted, sometimes enjoyed. One choice. Death or surviving; which one will win?


**AN: Hello my lovely, loyal readers! I want to deeply apologise for neglecting to update my stories. My inspiration has abandoned me and I am unable to write without it :( I can promise, however, that all my stories will be completed at some point, but I cannot promise when that will be. I'm hoping that this little one-shot, possibly two-shot if you guys want it, will at least partially make up for it.**

**The poem is one I wrote for english last year and something made me think of it today so I went back and looked at it. As you have probably guessed, the poem sparked an idea and this story was formed! I hope you love reading it as much as I loved writing it!**

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_Running, running, running_

_Feet pounding the hard, dry earth_

_Always tiring, never stopping_

_Only one thought in my mind_

His breath came in short gasps as he sprinted along the road. The rhythmic _thump thump _of his shoes hitting the ground was just like the beating of his heart; fast and irregular, uncontrolled. He was exhausted, both mentally and physically, but he refused to stop. He _couldn't _stop. The only thing he could think of was escaping.

_Escaping, Escaping, Escaping_

_Pursuers close behind me_

_The twists and turns are dizzying_

_But I must not pause_

He had escaped from the compound where he'd been held only fifteen minutes ago, but it felt like hours. Every noise, every shape, everything feeling was that of the enemy who he knew were just behind him. His feet carried him through allies and round corners, heading to an unknown destination. The buildings rushed past in a blur as he ran, pushing faster and faster and _faster_. He wanted to stop. He wanted to take a break from all the running, from the escaping and from the danger. He couldn't though, he _mustn't._

_Slowing, slowing, slowing_

_I can't continue any more_

_My speed is dropping_

_Soon they'll catch me_

His pace begins to slow. His feet begin to drag. The effort to continue running is too much and his determination to keep moving, to _escape_, disappears. He is no longer running, it's more of a fast jog, and the speed keeps decreasing. Soon he is only walking, desperately looking for a place to hide, but there is nowhere. He can hear the echoing of his hunter's footsteps as they continue to run towards him; getting closer and closer. It won't be long now and they'll be upon him. _Why aren't they tiring as he is?_

_Fighting, fighting, fighting_

_My life is on the line_

_But I won't give up trying_

_Until the very end_

He stops running, admitting that it is useless. They surround him, advancing slowly, taunting, teasing, intimidating. He knows that he is in serious danger, his life is threatened and he is determined to survive. With an animal cry he launches himself at the closest attacker, lashing out with his fists. The element of surprise is not on his side however as the man simply side-steps and he crashes to the ground. Scrambling to his feet he isn't quick enough to block the punches and kicks aimed at him. He is outnumbered and out-powered but he refuses to give in. He is determined to continue fighting until it is impossible to fight any more.

_Surviving, surviving, surviving_

_It's harder than it seems_

_You may think that I'm lying_

_Just wait until your turn_

He'd survived many years in the dangerous profession that was his life. It had been hard though, more than hard, almost impossible at times. Surviving, defined as 'continuing to live or exist' seemed so simple and easy, mundane almost. It wasn't though. In fact, it was almost the opposite. He was constantly on alert, looking over his shoulder, checking behind every corner and analysing everyone around him. Some people would call him paranoid, but he knows that he isn't. He's cautious, careful, smart; he's _surviving. _People may scoff at him, laugh in his face, but when they experience what he has, what he _is _experiencing, they'll know that surviving is no easy feat. The blows that hit him cause him nothing but pain and he finds himself beginning to let go, to loose the will to survive.

_Dying, dying, dying_

_If you don't survive_

_Tears show that you're crying_

_As you leave this world_

Death, defined as 'the action or fact of dying or being killed; the end of the life of a person'. He'd always wondered what death would feel like. Would it be slow and painful? Would it be fast and painless? Would it be peaceful? Would he want to die? Would he be relieved that he had escaped the world he lived in? Would it be natural? Would it be by torture? Or, would it be something completely different?These questions were constantly on his mind, floating around in an unused corner of his brain, but he rarely let them move to the front. It was best not to think about death; not when it was such a high possibility. Now though, they were zipping through his mind so fast he could hardly comprehend them. Each one demanded and answer and he was afraid, afraid that he would have no choice but to give an answer. The way things were looking his death would be painful, but quick enough not to be unbearable. It wouldn't be a peaceful end to his life. He would be relieved to die, purely for the fact that he would escape the torture that he was going through. Yes, that's how he'd die; torture. Not a slow, excruciatingly painful torture carried out by a sadistic terrorist, but a merciless, endless torture, carried out by the sadistic terrorist's minions. All he wanted for was it to be over, and his wish was coming true. With a calm acceptance that seemed _wrong_, he realises that he was dying. More than that, he realises he _wants_ to die. A single tear leaks from his eye, carving a glistening trail through the dirt smeared across his face. He could be crying because he's going to die. He could be crying for the people he will leave behind. He could be crying because _it hurts so much_. Or he could be crying because he's so _happy_, so happy just to _escape_. That's what he wanted, right? To escape? _Yes, _he thinks. _I'm escaping, not dying. _Escaping to somewhere else, somewhere _better._The last thing he sees is the malicious grin and bloodthirsty glint in the eyes of the person who would later be rewarded for killing him.

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**Please leave a review with your thoughts! If I get enough positive reviews I'll write a sequel for it! I have a goal that I'd like to reach and you, my lovely, loyal readers, are the only ones who can help me. My goal is to reach 15 reviews, do you think you can do that? One thing that I want _everyone _to leave in a review is who they think the story is about (HINT: It may not be the obvious person). Replies to guest reviews will be put up on my profile so check there if you leave a guest review – which I hope you all will!**

**Thanks a heap for reading, and review! (Please?)**

**-TaCo**


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